I'm Not That Naive
by Charlie Quill
Summary: Harry contemplates Snape during 7th year potions. On Hold.
1. Class Begins

I'm Not That Naïve ~ Part I

Harry Potter sat in Potions Class, pointedly ignoring the glare emanating from Draco Malfoy. He had talked with another Griffindor for a while, but gave up when the conversation kept drifting toward his scar. So instead he tried to find some hint in the room about what they would be doing in class that day. 

The summer before his sixth year, Harry had received the letter containing the results from his O.W.L.s from Professor McGonagall. His hands had been shaking as he opened the letter slowly, a bead of sweat running down his cheek. More than anything (other than the fall of Voldermort or a proper family) Harry wanted to be an Auror. His gaze ran the length of the paper anxiously before finally coming to rest on Potions. _Outstanding_. He could have jumped for joy, hooting his relief and joy (if the Dursley's weren't having company at the moment down stairs). While the thought of having to endure Professor Snape another whole two, maybe three years wasn't appealing, the thought of fulfilling his dream was. Now as he started his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, he was wondering if he would make it.

The dungeon doors banged open and out of the corner of his eye he could see the swirling black robes that were his Potions Professor. He watched as the forty some wizard stormed down the rows of desks, black folds of cloth billowing behind him. 

The Potions Master reached his desk and pivoted on his foot, staring malevolently down his hooked nose. He summoned the name list effortlessly, his soulless black eyes roaming over it as he called out each name.

"Ah, Harry Potter, I see our very own _celebrity_ has rejoined us again this year" he said softly, his eyes flitting up to meet emerald green ones. 

"It is good to see you are in such good spirits as always, Professor" he replied coolly, never dropping his gaze. 

"Five points from Griffindor for your cheek, Mr. Potter" 

Harry's lips twitched. Nothing had changed, and it probably never would. 

The Potions Master continued with the role call which didn't take long, seeing as how this was a very hard class to get into and not many people wanted to be in it. 

"In this class you will learn to brew fame, bottle death, and stopper truth. A few of you are here because of your undeniable hard work and dedication to the art and refined understanding in brewing potions. Others, because of dumb luck" Here, his glittering black eyes rested on Harry who stared stonily back, ignoring the Slytherin's sniggering.

"Tell me Potter, what do you get when you add powdered Unicorn horn to werewolf draught?" he drawled. 

"A dangerous poison that takes a whole month to take effect. Often mistaken for influenza, until it is too late."

"What are the correct ingredients for PolyJuice, Potter?" When Harry answered correctly, he raised a sculpted eyebrow before shooting out one last question. "Where do you find the Bloustglen pearl, Potter?" 

Surprised at the question, knowing that Snape considered it to advanced for him to know, he smiled disconcertingly at his professor. "In the belly of a Wyvern that has eaten a basilisk, professor" 

"I thought after all the years you had spent in my classroom, under my rules, Mister Potter, that you would know that I do not allow any form of cheating." His silken voice grated on Harry's nerves, but he knew all to well the consequences of his retort, never the less he shrugged.

"I wasn't" Harry replied in an equally silken soft voice. 

"And lying as well?" he clucked disapprovingly. "Ten points from Griffindor" The Slytherins snickered. Snape continued, "Today you will be concocting the Truth Potion, Veritserum. The instructions are on the board, you may begin".

Magically the instructions appeared on the board, written in perfect cursive handwriting. Harry read each line carefully, putting each line to memory.

__

Cut the Mandrake root into thin slivers…Add five slivers, rotating counterclockwise seven times before raising the heat…crush ten sharks' teeth…

Dark blue steam rose from his simmering cauldron and he could feel his spirits rise, maybe this year he could prove himself. He slowly added the powdered shark teeth, stirring the mixture carefully. 
The corner of Harry's lips twitched. He had read, and studied, several books on potions avidly over the summer. Putting every ingredient and concoction to memory, Harry was pleased to see he had alienated the Potions Master. Even now his emerald green eyes caught sight of the dark, imposing form making his way threw the rows of cauldrons, sneering at Griffindor's potion to the glee of watching Slytherins. 
A bead of sweat ran down his neck, disappearing beneath his white collar. His glasses threatened to slide down off his nose, before he hastily pushed them back, wiping away the perspiration from his face. He carefully counted out each minute; mentally calculating how much more time was needed before adding each ingredient. 
Feeling a presence behind him he knew it was near the end of class. Snape always picked him last.
"Professor?" he asked quietly, continuing his analysis of the simmering clear brew.
"Potter" he sneered softly, watching the wispy strands of blue steam rise toward the ceiling. 
Harry noticed how Snape was beside him instead of hovering over his shoulder; maybe the Potions Master wasn't as imposing as he thought. He cocked his head, his curiosity burning. Yes, there was no denying it. Those piercing black eyes _were_ a little closer to his own this year. 
"Find something amusing, Potter, I daresay your attempts at Potions certainly are" Harry was dimly aware of Draco's group of Slytherins chortling in the background. 
"Thank you, sir" he mumbled, ignoring the peals of laughter drifting over from the corner.


	2. Reverie

I'm Not that Naïve Part II

The weeks passed by quickly, a mere blur to Harry as he fought a more constant headache. He was excelling in his classes, except of course Potions. If only he could get past Snape's prejudice! 

Passing an open window he shivered, pulling his robes tighter around him while fumbling with the clasp to lock the window closed. Brushing away the small flakes of snow that spotted his hair and midnight black robes he wondered how Hermione or Ron's Christmas was going. Finished he turned to leave and came face to face with the Potions Master. 

"Potter" he sneered. "What are you doing here, _after_ hours? Twenty points from Griffindor, and I think a detention" he said softly, his black eyes glittering. Harry looked into the swirling black eyes and shrugged.

"It is Christmas Holiday, professor, but of course you wouldn't want to remember something as cheerful as that"

A sharp eyebrow quirked and something of a smile passed across his cold features. "Get to your common room, Potter" 

Harry watched as he stalked off, black folds of cloth billowing malevolently behind him. "Yes, professor" 

*~*~*~*~*

Harry's boots clicked against the stone floor of the dungeon as he ambled down the corridors on his way to detention. Shivering from the cold that seemed to penetrate his bones he clutched his robes to himself more securely, ignoring the constant throbbing from his scar. Reaching the door to Snape's classroom he steadied his nerves and knocked on the door. Not receiving an answer he hesitantly turned the knob, hoping there weren't any wards that would hex him into oblivion.

"Professor?" He was again met with silence and entering the dimly lit room he wondered what would have kept Snape from a detention. Eyes roaming over the large room they finally came to rest on the sinister looking desk and the even more sinisterly looking man behind the desk. "Professor! When you didn't answer, I-"

"Save it, Potter, your instructions are on the board, get to work" 

Harry ripped his eyes away from the swirling black ones and focused on the blackboard. The potion was simple enough, a concoction meant to soothe pains away for hours. He put each line to memory before getting up and beginning his search for each ingredient.

The hours stretched on for ages, and sweat beaded his brow as he added each ingredient carefully. He stood in front of the cabinet door for a few moments, puzzled. So far he had found everything he needed in this one collection and the thought of having to sift through the rest of the room for one ingredient wasn't appealing. A drawling voice broke into his thoughts, slightly grating his already tense nerves.

"The ram's hoof is in the blue jar, second shelf on your right" 

Harry half-turned and inclined his head muttering "thanks" before grabbing the jar and retreating to the simmering cauldron he had chosen to work with. 

The salve finally finished Harry put it in the jar provided and turned to give it to the Potions Professor but a searing pain momentarily blinded him. Dropping the jar, his knees buckled under him and both hands flew up to clutch his burning forehead. Something wet and sticky coated his hands and he could smell the blood. After the pain receded some he forced his eyes up and saw a similar sight happening at the desk. 

Professor Snape was doubled over on the floor clutching his forearm, his face contorted in pain. It went on for several minutes; each lost in their own world of agony, just short of screaming in pain. But when the pain finally receded to its' usual prickle Harry slowly supported himself on shaky knees and arms before he was able to stand up, wavering. The blood pouring from his scar had stopped and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his robes. Repairing the glass jar he staggered toward his fallen professor.

"Sir?" 

"Potter" Harry's lip twitched, he was all right. 

"Does it still burn? The dark mark?"

"Do hippogriffs fly, Potter?" he growled.

Rolling up his potions' professors' sleeve he rubbed the salve over the burning dark mark that had likewise opened up and started to bleed. After treating the wound and helping him to sit up in the chair he uttered a spell and sat in the one that appeared beside him. 

Stiffly taking a seat he muttered another spell and a tea set appeared on the desk. Pouring himself and Snape a cup he leaned back and took a deep long sip. The two figures sat like that, taking their time in gathering up their strength. 

"It's getting worse" Harry sighed, looking at where the dark mark still burned a reddish black on Snape's arm. 

"He's getting stronger, you know that." He snapped. " Every time it will be worse. How is your scar?"

"It hurts, it always hurts now" Harry trailed off, watching his tea grow cold and not really caring. He set it down and knitted his fingers, finally locking his eyes with Snape's. "And your arm, has it ever split open like that?" 

"No"

Leaning forward Harry poured him another cup of tea before pouring himself some. Snape whispered a "thank you" and the two again lapsed into silence. 

"A link is shared between all who have been marked by the Dark Lord, Harry, even one so young as yourself." Harry watched as the black eyes seemed to glitter with hate and anger. "You were not meant to know this life, no one should have known this life.

"Now that the Dark Lord is returning, his powers growing in greater intensity he will do anything to get to you. It becomes more and more difficult to resist answering his call, as you have witnessed tonight."

"He will be defeated, the Dark Lord…"

"But at what cost?" Snape finished for him. 

"Innocence" Harry answered bitterly, looking away, hands clasped tightly to his cup. Harry sat silently, watching his swirling tea and the blood on his hands drying. Looking up his ivy green eyes lost some of their youth and Snape could see what he had hidden for so many years. Pain.

The two silent figures sat together for a long time, lost in their own thoughts, comforting each other with what was left of their dignity. The grandfather clock that stood tall and proud in the fall corner chimed three o'clock in the morning before either stirred from their reverie. 

Blinking, Harry stood stiffly and clasping a hand over his nemesis' shoulder he squeezed.

"Innocence is ignorance" 

"Yet ignorance is bliss, isn't it, Potter?"

"I'm not that naïve, professor"

The Potions master watched as Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, walked deftly from his office, robes swinging with each step. Long after the pupil was gone, the professor was still sitting with his tea long grown cold, eyes glittering with some unknown emotion. 

It may be drivel, but what more can you do when wallowing in boredom? The whole fic was an afterthought, Severus, nothing more and (hopefully) nothing less. I do agree that the "three-sentence denoument (tacked on as an apparent afterthought) only avoids the moniker "footnote" because the type was the same size as the rest of the story" was absolute rubbish, hence it's deletion. 

But I have more important things to do (She mutters something about regaining house points before other Slytherins get a chance to hex her), so this fic is on hold.   



End file.
